Tri Delta Quotes

[Dialogue between Solon and an Egyptian Priest] In the Egyptian Delta, at the head of which the river Nile divides, there is a certain district which is called the district of Sais [...] To this city came Solon, and was received there with great honour; he asked the priests who were most skilful in such matters, about antiquity, and made the discovery that neither he nor any other Hellene knew anything worth mentioning about the times of old. On one occasion, wishing to draw them on to speak of antiquity, he began to tell about the most ancient things in our part of the world-about Phoroneus, who is called "the first man," and about Niobe; and after the Deluge, of the survival of Deucalion and Pyrrha; and he traced the genealogy of their descendants, and reckoning up the dates, tried to compute how many years ago the events of which he was speaking happened. Thereupon one of the priests, who was of a very great age, said: O Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are never anything but children, and there is not an old man among you. Solon in return asked him what he meant. I mean to say, he replied, that in mind you are all young; there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient tradition, nor any science which is hoary with age.

Some literary recommendations: James Salter’s erotic masterpiece, A Sport and a Pastime; Anais Nin’s collections of short stories Delta of Venus and Little Birds; the erotic novels Emanuelle by Emanuelle Arsan and Story of O by Pauline Réage; Harold Brodkey’s sexual saga “Innocence”—perhaps the greatest depiction of a session of cunnilingus ever penned; novels by Jerzy Kosinski such as Passion Play and Cockpit; Henry Miller’s Under the Roofs of Paris and Quiet Days in Clichy; My Secret Life by Anonymous and The Pure and the Impure by Colette; Nancy Friday’s anthology of fantasies, Secret Garden (filled with the correspondence of real people’s fantasies); stories from The Mammoth Book of Erotica or one of the many erotic anthologies edited by Susie Bright. For those with a taste for poetry, try Les Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire or Flesh Unlimited by Guillaume Apollinaire. And for those who like comic books (kinky ones, that is), try the extra-hot works of writer/illustrator Eric Stanton, who specializes in female-domination fantasies.

Instead of focusing on the opportunity at hand, risk-averse leaders get treed by the potential risk, and fall victim to the greatest operational failure of all: the failure to try.

The Frenchman showed her a great deal of Paris that day, saying over lunch at a café that it was impossible to see everything of interest in so short a time. "And of course the sights are only one aspect; there's also the theatre, the markets, clubs, festivals, gardens and much more." Delta smiled dreamily; it sounded wonderful. Enjoying her smile, Valois gave her cheek a playful caress. "If I try hard enough, you may never want to leave.

Things have come a long way in Mississippi. That’s the usual shorthand. Perhaps nowhere else in America has made more progress in its race relations, but then again, nowhere else had so far to go. Mississippi had the most lynchings, the worst Klan violence, the staunchest resistance to the civil rights movement. When the Emmett Till case was tried, the all-white jury found the two defendants not guilty in an hour and eight minutes. One juror said it would have been quicker if they hadn’t taken a break to drink Coca-Colas. Those days are gone now, but inevitably, they bleed through and stain the present.

She watched Delta try to pull herself into a pitiful looking crouch. Delta was far from coordinated, though, so her feet slipped out from under her. For a second, she almost looked like she was trying to run in place with her feet slipping and sliding all over the place. Finally, Delta stopped her pathetic running man imitation so that she ended up in a squat. Her hands held out in front of her, clasped together with her pointer finger and thumb in the shape of a gun. Good Lord, her sister looked like a Charlie’s Angel reject. - Elena

Years earlier, while briefing Colin Powell on the missions we conducted in Colombia, I mentioned to him that we were successful because we were nimble. We didn’t ask anyone to approve our concepts; we moved first, and figured things out as we went along. Listening intently to the story, he smiled and reflected to me that good leaders don’t wait for official blessings to try things out. They use common sense to guide them because they understand a simple fact of life in most organizations: if you ask enough people for permission, you’ll inevitably find someone who believes that they should tell you no.

He had not joined in on the laughter or even on the beating. Violence of any sort horrified him. Nevertheless, he stood by while Mike, their leader, drove a boot down on Joe’s hand. The hideous cracking sound of breaking bones came into his mind and a helpless shudder ran through him. Joe, whose high piercing scream against the autumn skies of indifference, replayed in his memory with shrill agony. Several times, he had shouted: “He’s had enough! Let up on him!” Which earned him looks of contempt from the others. They had left the kid there, screaming in that back alley. He remembered trying to drown those screams out of his mind.

You dismiss the idea that the death of Jesus—the “torture and death of a single individual in a backward part of the Middle East” — could possibly be the solution to the sorrows of our brutish existence. When I said that Jesus is good for the world because he is the life of the world, you just tossed this away. You said, “You cannot possibly ‘know’ this. Nor can you present any evidence for it.” Actually, I believe I can present evidence for what I know. But evidence comes to us like food, and that is why we say grace over it. And we are supposed to eat it, not push it around on the plate—and if we don’t give thanks, it never tastes right. But here is some evidence for you, in no particular order. The engineering that went into ankles. The taste of beer. That Jesus rose from the dead on the third day, just like he said. A woman’s neck. Bees fooling around in the flower bed. The ability of acorns to manufacture enormous oaks out of stuff they find in the air and dirt. Forgiveness of sin. Storms out of the North, the kind with lightning. Joyous laughter (diaphragm spasms to the atheistic materialist). The ocean at night with a full moon. Delta blues. The peacock that lives in my yard. Sunrise, in color. Baptizing babies. The pleasure of sneezing. Eye contact. Having your feet removed from the miry clay, and established forever on the rock. You may say none of this tastes right to you. But suppose you were to bow your head and say grace over all of it. Try it that way. You say that you cannot believe that Christ’s death on the Cross was salvation for the world because the idea is absurd. I have shown in various ways that absurdity has not been a disqualifier for any number of your current beliefs. You praise reason to the heights, yet will not give reasons for your strident and inflexible moral judgments, or why you have arbitrarily dubbed certain chemical processes “rational argument.” That’s absurd right now, and yet there you are, holding it. So for you to refuse to accept Christ because it is absurd is like a man at one end of the pool refusing to move to the other end because he might get wet. Given your premises, you will have to come up with a different reason for rejecting Christ as you do. But for you to make this move would reveal the two fundamental tenets of true atheism. One: There is no God. Two: I hate Him.

They say, ‘Take some graveyard dirt, you’ll be a great guitar player.’ Hacksaw Harney told me to try that, he said that’s why he play so good. He took me along with him to get some, but I got about halfway there, and I said no. He said, ‘You got to do that if you want to be a better player.’ I said I guessed I was good enough.

There have been three major slave revolts in human history. The first, led by the Thracian gladiator Spartacus against the Romans, occurred in 73 BC. The third was in the 1790s when the great black revolutionary Touissant L'Ouverture and his slave army wrested control of Santo Domingo from the French, only to be defeated by Napoleon in 1802. But the second fell halfway between these two, in the middle of the 9th century AD, and is less documented than either. We do know that the insurgents were black; that the Muslim 'Abbasid caliphs of Iraq had brought them from East Africa to work, in the thousands, in the salt marshes of the delta of the Tigris. These black rebels beat back the Arabs for nearly ten years. Like the escaped maroons in Brazil centuries later, they set up their own strongholds in the marshland. They seemed unconquerable and they were not, in fact, crushed by the Muslims until 883. They were known as the Zanj, and they bequeathed their name to the island of Zanzibar in the East Africa - which, by no coincidence, would become and remain the market center for slaves in the Arab world until the last quarter of the 19th century. The revolt of the Zanj eleven hundred years ago should remind us of the utter falsity of the now fashionable line of argument which tries to suggest that the enslavement of African blacks was the invention of European whites. It is true that slavery had been written into the basis of the classical world; Periclean Athens was a slave state, and so was Augustan Rome. Most of their slaves were Caucasian whites, and "In antiquity, bondage had nothing to do with physiognomy or skin color". The word "slave" meant a person of Slavic origin. By the 13th century it spread to other Caucasian peoples subjugated by armies from central Asia: Russians, Georgians, Circassians, Albanians, Armenians, all of whom found ready buyers from Venice to Sicily to Barcelona, and throughout the Muslim world. But the African slave trade as such, the black traffic, was a Muslim invention, developed by Arab traders with the enthusiastic collaboration of black African ones, institutionalized with the most unrelenting brutality centuries before the white man appeared on the African continent, and continuing long after the slave market in North America was finally crushed. Historically, this traffic between the Mediterranean and sub-Saharan Africa begins with the very civilization that Afrocentrists are so anxious to claim as black - ancient Egypt. African slavery was well in force long before that: but by the first millennium BC Pharaoh Rameses II boasts of providing the temples with more than 100,000 slaves, and indeed it is inconceivable that the monumental culture of Egypt could have been raised outside a slave economy. For the next two thousand years the basic economies of sub-Saharan Africa would be tied into the catching, use and sale of slaves. The sculptures of medieval life show slaves bound and gagged for sacrifice, and the first Portuguese explorers of Africa around 1480 found a large slave trade set up from the Congo to Benin. There were large slave plantations in the Mali empire in the 13th-14th centuries and every abuse and cruelty visited on slaves in the antebellum South, including the practice of breeding children for sale like cattle, was practised by the black rulers of those towns which the Afrocentrists now hold up as sanitized examples of high civilization, such as Timbuktu and Songhay.

Excellent. I stopped you to tell you that not all mobs are willing to go along with the insane invasion of the Overworld. We have formed our own guerilla army. We call ourselves the Children of Zeke.” I was overwhelmed with pride. Otis, however, groaned and made loud noises pretending he was being violently ill and vomiting. “Ignore him,” I said. “What is your group doing?” “So far, nothing,” Skulls sighed. “But, we are organizing and stockpiling weapons in the hope that we can lead a rebellion one day.” “Excellent,” I said. “I had better get going,” said Skulls. “It is not wise to stay in one place for very long.” “Thank you. If you ever find yourself in the Overworld, be sure to stop by my house,” I said. Skulls nodded, glanced around the area, and then quickly walked away. Once he was out of sight, Heidi said, “You think he was telling the truth?” “I do.” “I think the Children of Zeke sounds amazing,” said Harold. “Amazingly stupid,” said Otis. “Come on, let’s go,” said Trevor. “Skulls was right about one thing, we shouldn’t stay in one place for too long.” Chapter 18 We followed Trevor along the edge between the basalt delta and adjoining crimson forest biomes, trying to stay hidden on the stable forest ground as much as possible. “How much farther until we can see the nether fortress?” asked Heidi. “We should enter the nether wastes biome in a few minutes, so I’d say we’re about fifteen minutes away from being able to see the fortress.” “Good,” said Otis. “I feel the need to make something bleed.” I shook my head. “You need to dial it down a bit.” “Never.” I hoped Trevor knew where he was going. The fog of both biomes mixed together and made visibility difficult. And that was our mistake. Suddenly, a horde of more than a dozen piglins and zombified piglins jumped from behind the trunks of several large crimson fungi

Fantasize, together: Take a page from The Thousand and One Nights and incorporate a story into foreplay. If you’re not a born storyteller, try reading one aloud together. Some literary recommendations: James Salter’s erotic masterpiece, A Sport and a Pastime; Anais Nin’s collections of short stories Delta of Venus and Little Birds; the erotic novels Emanuelle by Emanuelle Arsan and Story of O by Pauline Réage; Harold Brodkey’s sexual saga “Innocence”—perhaps the greatest depiction of a session of cunnilingus ever penned; novels by Jerzy Kosinski such as Passion Play and Cockpit; Henry Miller’s Under the Roofs of Paris and Quiet Days in Clichy; My Secret Life by Anonymous and The Pure and the Impure by Colette; Nancy Friday’s anthology of fantasies, Secret Garden (filled with the correspondence of real people’s fantasies); stories from The Mammoth Book of Erotica or one of the many erotic anthologies edited by Susie Bright. For those with a taste for poetry, try Les Fleurs du Mal (Flowers of Evil) by Charles Baudelaire or Flesh Unlimited by Guillaume Apollinaire. And for those who like comic books (kinky ones, that is), try the extra-hot works of writer/illustrator Eric Stanton,

She was a big ol’ ho,” Riley told her brother. “She put out more than the Tab machine in the Tri-Delta house.

She knew all too well the type of violence inflicted on those who tried to change the social order of the Delta. Over the past few years, Katherine had heard accounts of night riders burning homes and businesses all over the county. The increase in violence was a direct response to black laborers’ rising demands for equality, an equality that Katherine, too, sought. She was not ignorant as to the risk. Local planters like W. B. Roberts and Walter Sillers Jr., whom Katherine often saw at church, were involved with the Ku Klux Klan and used the association as a tool for maintaining control and influence over the town.

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Your daughter is a Tri-Delta. I’m not much for Greek life.” “Coulda fooled me,” Violet muttered, looking Linc up and down with a knowing glance that made Wyatt sweat.

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I always try to inhale deeply and recognize these perfect little moments as they happen, but I never seem to appreciate their significance until they’re long gone.

I’m going to tell you a really important lesson I learned after Emily died. I thought I knew what it was to be part of a team. I was in the army, joined Delta, I trusted my team with everything, and knew they had my back no matter what. Then I lost my wife and was the sole parent to a newborn. Lolly was my responsibility, and I took that seriously. I tried to juggle everything myself. Funeral arrangements, caring for Lolly, taking care of the house, laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, midnight feeds, and a colicky baby. I thought I had to do it all and didn’t want to accept help from anyone. You know what eventually happened?” “What?” “I crashed. Two months after Lolly was born, I was cooking dinner, lay down for just a moment, and woke up an hour later to someone hammering on my apartment door. Dinner burned which set off the smoke detectors, the fire department came, and I realized that raising my daughter wasn’t a mission I could undertake without my team. I needed my parents, needed Bear and the rest of Alpha team, needed Prey and the Oswalds. So, I reached out for help.

Rayne heard Ghost open the door to the house and when he didn’t immediately appear, went looking for him. She found him standing in the laundry room, staring at what she saw was simply a load of dirty clothes she hadn’t yet put into the washer. Ever since she’d asked to borrow the car while he was at work for the last week or so, Ghost had been picked up by Fletch and dropped off after work by one of the other guys on the team. This was the first time she could remember him coming into the house through the garage, and thus through the small laundry room. “Ghost? What are you doing? Are you all right?” He looked up at her. “You’re doing our laundry.” “Yeah? So? It was dirty. You didn’t want to walk around in nasty, smelly clothes did you?” Rayne had no idea what his deal was. Ghost dropped his duffle back on the floor and came toward her. “You’re doing our laundry.” “Yeah, Ghost. I am,” she repeated. “Ours. Our laundry.” “Did you hit your head today? I’m seriously worried about you.” Ghost picked her up by her waist and set her down on top of the washing machine. “I fucking love coming home and walking into my house and seeing your panties mixed up with my boxers. To come home and know you’re here. Waiting for me. You have no idea. None.” Chills broke out on Rayne’s arms and legs at Ghost’s words, but he didn’t stop. “This is what we fight for. This is what we’re willing to die for.” “For me to wash your dirty clothes?” Rayne had no idea what he was getting at. She wasn’t trying to be snarky, her question was genuine. Ghost leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes. She could feel his hands squeeze her waist and move up under her T-shirt to her lower back, where he stroked. She knew he understood exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t absently caressing her; he was running his hands over her tattoo, over their tattoo.

Maybe the answer isn’t trying to get there by inches. Maybe the answer isn’t HR wheedling employees into changes they’re told are easy. Maybe the real opportunity is to say: We’re going to try something crazy difficult, something really intense. Everybody who steps up to do it is going to feel like they’re about to die, albeit for fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, tops. Strong people and not-so-strong people will see one another’s heroic efforts. And in the end, we’ll be more than faster, more powerful, harder to kill, and generally more useful.7 We’ll be a group of people that knows it can do crazy difficult things. Reebok’s CrossFit logo is a big equilateral triangle pointing up—the Greek letter delta, the mathematical symbol for change. If the wellness nudgers can’t save us, if comfortable solutions won’t make us strong again, maybe intensity—the willingness to get comfortable with discomfort—is the only thing that will really make a difference.

of the reward circuitry leads to a localized rebellion. If DeltaFosB is the gas pedal for bingeing, the molecule CREB functions as the brakes. CREB dampens our pleasure response.[134] It inhibits dopamine. CREB is trying to take the joy out of bingeing so that you give it a rest. Oddly enough, high levels of dopamine stimulate the production of both CREB and DeltaFosB. Our bodies are equipped with countless feedback mechanisms to keep us alive and functioning well. It makes perfect sense for mammals also to have evolved a braking system for bingeing on food or sex. There comes a time to move on and take care of the kids or maybe hunt and gather. But the glitch in the CREB/DeltaFosB balancing act is that it evolved long before humans were exposed to powerful reinforcers such as whiskey, cocaine, ice cream, or porn tube sites. All have the potential to override evolved satiation mechanisms, including CREB’s brakes. Put simply, CREB doesn’t stand much chance in the era of supernormal stimuli and widely available prescription and illicit drugs. What’s CREB to do in face of a Big Mac, fries and milkshake dinner, followed by 3-hour Mountain Dew-fuelled Call of Duty session, and two hours of surfing PornHub while smoking a joint? What array of enticements did a 19-year old hunter-gatherer encounter to goose his dopamine? Perhaps a second helping of overcooked rabbit meat or watching the four girls he’d known since birth tan hides.

By refocusing my mind on my mission, my responsibility to my men’s welfare, and then putting any thoughts of me completely out of the equation, I was able to recognize and adapt to a hauntingly familiar pattern of modern-day battlefield behavior while it unfolded in front of me (a leader misled by technology and misguided by hubris trying to make life-or-death decisions without the context of the guys on the ground). One

Although help and counsel flowed both ways, recipients were not always ready to accept advice. In 1615 several churches in Royal Prussia wrote to Mennonites in the Netherlands and urged them to resolve divisions and disputes among themselves.30 Apparently the Dutch Mennonites were less than enthusiastic about the spiritual counseling received from Royal Prussia; they now chose representatives to go to the Mennonite congregations in the Vistula Delta to enlighten them about the real situation in Amsterdam. Even if Dutch congregations were not always eager to accept advice and discipline from congregations in Royal Prussia, the event demonstrates strong mutual concern. In both countries, Mennonites attempted to transcend political boundaries. Throughout most of the sixteenth and much of the seventeenth centuries, Mennonites in the Netherlands and in Royal Prussia together tried to assist their co-religionists in other lands. Efforts were made at congregational and government levels, for example, when fellow believers were harshly treated in Switzerland, where authorities still resorted to burning of "heretics" as late as the early seventeenth century. For Mennonites in the Netherlands and in Royal Prussia, such policies provided another opportunity to

She wore a faded Tri-Delta sorority T-shirt over a green bikini top and stepped out of the backseat of a car with two other girls just as sun-kissed and heart-crushing. They sported pink cotton shorts with dolphins on them,

The archetypal example is portrayed in the 1991 movie Silence of the Lambs, where Jodie Foster, who plays a junior FBI agent, seeks out, listens to, and acts on information from a psychotic murderer named Hannibal Lecter. Despite the fact that Hannibal Lecter was serving a life sentence in prison while the murders took place, Jodie Foster’s character understood that Lecter had the same mind-set and many of the same life experiences as the killer she was trying to capture. Silence of the Lambs was just a movie, but if we in the United States had had someone like Hannibal Lecter who had the same mind-set and many of the same life experiences as the terrorists that masterminded 9/11, we surely would have tapped into his knowledge base, wouldn’t we?